The Sinister Reality
by Tangerine Katya
Summary: The world of reality television has finally gotten interesting as our intrepid heroes are forced into a new brand of torture by the one and only Mr. Sinister. Read as they laugh, cry, and contemplate the mysteries of Elvis the Monkey.
1. A Prologue of Sorts

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing but the lesbian bartender. She is mine. I keep her locked in a cage in the basement. Anyway, everything is and will always be the property of the nice people at Marvel, no matter what we do to change that. And I'm not making any damned money off of this, although it would be cool if I did. This is all in bad taste and humor. If there are any errors, or anything in particular that you do not like, yell at my beta, Delilah. She's the bible whore and thus takes criticism well! Enjoy!

**Tangy**: Well here it is, folks, what you've been waiting for!

**Delilah**: Or not.

**Tangy**: What exactly are you saying?

**Delilah**: We'll this is the start of the story. How can they have possibly been anticipating it if they didn't know it even existed?

**Tangy**: Maybe they are telepaths.

**Delilah**: Doubtful.

**Tangy**: Oh, shut up! Bad, Beta, bad! *fwaps the naughty little beta*

**Delilah**: *fwaps the naughty little author back* Either way, here's the story. 

**Tangy**: That hurt ;_;

**Delilah**: Oh!!!! Remember to review. Tangy gets all cranky if you don't and then the nice men in the white coats have to take her away. And electroshock therapy is _so_ bad for the skin.

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_ April 19th, 10:48 and 17 seconds to the dot._

            After six minutes nonstop clicking and 'interest' in the button that magically made his watch glow a sinister green, the remnants of the once proud Nathaniel Essex pried his bloodshot eyes from the face of his replica James Bond style timepiece. 

He had added the eerie glow effect to it after seeing a young child who had the extreme luck of owning his very own Target brand glow watch. Rather than attract attention to himself while undercover as a fashion consultant for Ralph Lauren by stealing it from the boy, he contained his desire and customized his own. He later concluded that his watch was much cooler due the 'life-like' explosion simulations it created, and he was thus rid of his jealousy for the child. 

Once the satisfactory memory of believing he was better than somebody else (even if they were under the age of 10) wore off, he slid back into his slump of depression. Every single night for the past month, excepting the 5th when he had attended a musical on Broadway, he had found his familiar corner chair at the counter of "The Beannact Drunk" and washed away all feeling with numerous rounds of virgin Piña Coladas. 

  
Mr. Sinister, as he had been referring to himself and threatening others to do so as well under penalty of death, was going through what would be equivalent to a mid-life crisis. He even had the cherry red Mercedes to prove it. However, his situation wasn't brought on merely by boredom in the humdrum nine to five hour five weekly routines in which he normally commenced. Sinister was going through what is now commonly known as "a decline in detestable deeds". 

Not that his working for a major fashion corporation wasn't evil. In fact, that morning he had for a moment been able to remember what it was like to be horrible when he told a size double zero model that she was a fat stinking cow and proceeded to throw coffee in his assistant's face. 

However, the brief and happy moments were generally outlived by countless hours of playing nice. It had been years since his last truly malicious act, and he needed to rekindle the fire of evil in his blackened and hollow heart. 

  
He became aware of group of women, not past twenty-seven he guessed, pointing at something by his feet and giggling senselessly. Looking down to examine his shoes, as it would have been just his luck to emerge from the men's room with a strip of toilet paper glued to the soles, he caught sight of his "shoulder bag." Truth be told it rather looked like a large, leather, women's purse (he considered it fashionable, and that was all that mattered to him). There was no doubt in his mind that was what they found to be highly entertaining, but took pride in the fact that at least he could afford Prada and wasn't some cheap slut in a cutoff skirt waiting to make money off of some man in a trashy bar in downtown Manhattan. Although, just meeting a man in the trashy bar wouldn't be so bad.

  
"I hate women," he grumbled under his breath, scowling at the flock of mindless bimbos still cracking jokes at his expense. He thought about how nice it would be to wring their necks and kill them on the spot, but how would that look on the news? "Fashion show cancelled due to lack of a murderous consultant."? He shook the idea out of his head. 

  
"Ah, I dun' know abou' tha', they certainly 'ave their uses when ye train 'em right."

 Sinister lifted his head, aware that the bartender had overheard his meant-to-be-quiet comment. He supposed alcohol altered your hearing, and he had misjudged his volume. Then, considering the fact that he was drinking "virgin" concoctions, jumped to the conclusion that she was just another nosy bartender.  
  


"Uhn," was his reply, not really caring for the company. He bet with himself that in approximately 5.7 seconds she would begin rambling on about herself. 

5.6 seconds passed. He lost the bet--It was 5.8. 

  
"Ah, but don' ye worry about those girls. They trouble fer anyone who looks. I'd know." She was obviously Irish, seeing as how nobody else could have an accent that thick and overtly drunk. He stared at her, taking note of her nametag. Kimberly. He gave her the once over. Dark, nearly black hair, and a face spotted with strategically placed freckles. 

After giving himself about a 10 second time slot to make a guess about her personality, it was somewhat of a game with him, he concluded one thing. Lesbian. It _had_ been evident by her previous statement, but he wasn't paying much attention to her. He just knew homosexuality when he saw it, having a certain degree of experience in the matter himself. 

She had been rambling all the while, and once he tuned in again he caught something about her owning the bar. He decided to take the opportunity to inquire about the name of the bar, which had been puzzling him for days now. 

  
"Th' name? Ah, 's simple, really. 'S Gaelic for 'The Blessed Drunk Woman.' Well, at least part of it's Gaelic. Mah girl, Amie's her name, righ' pretty she is, she came up with it. Thought it was clever. She's a clever girl, she is-"

  
"The Gaelic word for blessed woman is bean-act?" He had cut her off purposefully, having no interest to hear the tales and praises of her lesbian love-slave, Amie, who was more likely than not sweeping the floor of some filthy flat in Queens. However, the butchering of the pronunciation was not really intended.

"Nae, th' sign shop fergot a letter. It's suppost'ah say 'B-e-a-n-n-a-H-c-t.'"  


"Well that makes loads more sense," he scoffed under his breath, careful not to let her hear. He had now lost any and all interest he had in the girl. Even silently mocking her. As she rambled on, mixing him another drink, he looked up at a television screen flashing brightly lit adds through the hazy smoke settled in the bar.

"The Muppets, as you've already seen them before! The same lame sketches, the same lame puppets, and the same lame musical guests! Watch ABC's 

           'Muppet 50th anniversary!' thought Sinister as he glared at the screen. 

He had always resented the Muppets, because while they allowed Alice Cooper and the Artist Formerly Known as Prince to join the cast, Boy George was never even considered. He narrowed his eyes at the entertainment system, but still paid attention. 

The television set was now showing a movie preview for yet another Bruce Willis film: as usual, it involved a building blowing up in about 5 massive explosions, causing his heart to pine for the days that evil came so naturally. 

This got him to planning, really planning. He couldn't stand this any longer. He had to stop being a respectable man and do something downright  despicable. But what would he do?

 Some advertisements for yet another FOX produced (which Sinister took to mean one thing-Crap) reality T.V. show blared cheesy graphics and bad attempts at suspenseful one liners.  


"Will Mary-Sue cheat on her ugly hacker boyfriend for this Calvin Klein model in the midst of the Caribbean? Tune in Monday nights at seven to find out!" the announcer's voiced blared.

Sinister personally thought the answer was painfully obvious (who wouldn't want the hunk in the underwear?) but the entire bar seemed enthralled by the trailer.   


"Why are people so attached to those shows? They are just trashy ways for an overly evil corporation to make money." Again, his heart twanged at the mention of evil.   


"We interrupt the broadcast of FOX's nifty trailer to bring you some really boring news."

Sinister, being a man of more than a little intelligence, cocked his head in interest at the upcoming news bulletin.   


"The X-Men have yet again saved the small suburban area of Salem Center when they miraculously rescued a cute tabby kitten from a tree in the park," The bleach-blonde reporter smiled at the camera and straightened her papers. "The rescue attempt reportedly took a few hours, but the kitten is now safe at home with it's family. Here is a sickening display of cutesy stuff to satisfy your small minds."

 Images of a tiny girl snuggling her cat posed next to the X-Men, all striking heroic stances, was brought up on the screen. Nobody seemed to notice the angry scowl the cat was giving the mutant saviors, and an automated chorus of "awes" came from the television speakers.

 The first thing the former scientist thought after prying his attention from the disgusting happy pictures was that New York seriously needed to look into some new reporters. And better stories. 

The X-Men saving a cat was hardly worth---the X-Men? Had that story mentioned the X-Men? He smacked himself on the forehead in punishment for his apparent stupidity.  
  


"Of course!" He laughed maniacally, while still hushed enough not to draw too many spectators. "That's it! A plan of cunning genius and large evil proportions! Muahahahaha—Ack!" After clearing his airways of Pina Colada, he resumed his evil laughter. 

It was decided. 

The next day he would march upon FOX's conveniently and redundantly named branch in NYC, Evil Corp. Inc., and propose an offer that they couldn't refuse.

**Delilah**: Well, we really don't have anything to say except PLEASE REVIEW!

**Tangy**: We sound so pathetic when you say it like that.

**Delilah**: How would you like me to say it?

**Tangy**: Threaten to cut their hair off or something. 

**Delilah**: You're never going to let go of that, are you?

**Tangy**: Nope.

**Delilah**:*Sigh*The things I do for you. REVIEW OR I'LL CHOP YOUR HAIR OFF!

**Tangy**: ^.^;


	2. Coffee Beans and Drama Queens

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing. Nada. Zilch. Goose egg. The gods and goddesses at Marvel own everything. Except the Eggos. I'd say that the Eggo Waffle company owns those. Oh yeah, Columbia owns the coffee *nods*.  I'm not getting paid, and am a starving young author surviving on easy mac and water. Pity me and my pathetic…ness.

**Delilah**: Well here's chapter one. *Mumbles* If you've decided to hang around.

**Tangy**: What was that, oh bane of my existence?

**Delilah**: For all of you fascinated readers out there this is Chapter One and the cause of "The Great 'of' Debate".

**Tangy**: Well it's difficult to come up with names for these damned things *kicks a chapter*. Anyways, I asked about 6 people if the title should have an "of" at the beginning. So the votes came out 50/50, and I tossed a coin.

**Delilah**: So is that how you solve your problems?  Toss a coin? That does not bode well for the world.  Yes, let us all decided our fate by a coin toss.  I can just picture it now-- peace, love and harmony all due to a coin.  Praise the lord and-- *is cut off by Tangy*

**Tangy**: Well I take after you, now don't I? Anyways, story time!

**Delilah**: HEY!!!  Oh forget it. Roll film. Er…text…screen…story…whatever.

**Tangy**: Hah. Loser.  
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            Katherine Pryde woke at precisely six A.M., and not a second later. She was an early bird, but the relentless shrieking of the alarm clock stirred a bit of surprise in her each morning, and she would wake to find herself underneath her bed with wide, fearful eyes and a blanket halfway stuck through the mattress. Then, having crawled back out with an oath of vengeance, she would angrily phase her hand through the alarm clock, squealing with delight as it died with a distinctive "BEEP- BEEp- BEep-Beep-beep" and sudden silence. Needless to say, she went through a lot of alarm clocks.    
            While she was an early riser, she had developed a habit of allowing her brain to sleep in on certain days while her body aimlessly romped around the mansion. Today was one of those days. Her mind could only focus on two things: Coffee and waffles. "Maybe some tea," she added in a halfhearted voice, soon intercepted by a yawn. "Mmmn, waffles, coffee, and tea." She was too preoccupied to notice the chair in front of her, and if she hadn't been phased she would have tumbled right over it. Her abilities made mornings like this much easier to bear. She slipped a robe over her cutesy purple dragon pajamas, and phased out the door and down the stairs. The promise of waffle-y goodness and lethal proportions of caffeine kept her moving down the stairs and into the kitchen.  
            She wandered in and headed straight for the freezer. A box of Eggo brand waffles was soon in her hands, filling her eyes with a gleam of impish giddiness.   
            "Ah, Eggos. Absence indeed makes the heart grow fonder." She licked her lips as she stuffed the frozen god sent golden treats into the toaster. _Now for a caffeine boost.  
_            "Would you like some coffee?"  The overbearing male voice came from the other side of the counter.  
            "You read my mind." She yawned, reaching her arm across the table to grasp the warm energy-in-a-mug. She shuffled over to the kitchen table, sitting down and guarding her coffee as she hunched over it. Slowly injecting the mocha flavored poison by mouth, she eyed the toaster like a predatory bird. Rogue sauntered into the room, showing no shame the boxers and baggy shirt that she had worn to bed. Her hair was a mess as well, and Kitty soon suspected it wasn't a matter of pride; it was Rogue's lack of a mirror.   
            "Did Ah smell Eggo?" Rogue looked devilishly in the direction of the appliance about to release Kitty's precious waffles.  
            "MIIINNNEEEEE!" she shrieked, diving a rather long distance and landing before the toaster. She growled menacingly at Rogue. Rogue understood the territoriality none too well—she was the same way about cinnamon rolls. Something about the lightly sweetened treats with gooey white frosted dripped all over her gave her goose bumps and instilled the same motherly instincts.   
            "Ah'll just make mah own." She held up her hands as a sign of surrender to Kitty, and even took the liberty of getting her a plate.   
            "Thanks!" Kitty beamed, doling a few waffles onto the plate and throwing generous servings of butter and syrup on top. Something primal seemed to emanate from her eyes. Grabbing a fork and knife, she hurried back to the table. She attacked it with such vigor that it seemed for a moment that all of Logan's training had led up to this point.   
            "Would you like some coffee?" The eerily smooth male voice addressed Rogue.  
            "Hmmn, Tea would be nice," she replied. Then she blinked. Several times. "Kitty?"  
            "Mmpfh?" Kitty pried her hungry eyes from the jungle of waffle, syrup, and butter and glanced at her friend.   
            "Kitty…?" Kitty gulped down the large and sticky morsel in her mouth. It was quite difficult.  
            "I saaaid what?" she retorted, almost annoyed now that Rogue had not only interrupted her meal, but done so twice. And she hadn't even bothered to be original the second time.  
            "Kitty, why is Mistah Sinister in th' kitchen?"  
            "Is he now?" was Kitty's astonished reaction. She looked, and there he was. "So he is!"  
            "_Why_, Kitty?"  
            "For Pete's sake, I don't know. I'll ask him. Hey, Sinister, what are you doing here?" Rogue thought that Kitty ought to be taking this a little more seriously.  
            "Well it's about time one of you asked. Thought I was going to have to serve up coffee until Summers himself strolled in to find us all sharing the latest news over the pot." Bobby Drake picked a choice moment to come in.  
            "Hey, Rogue! Hey, Kitty! Mmmn, something smells good!"  
            "Bobby, Sinister is in th' kitchen." Her annoyance seeped though her words.  
            "Why, so he is!"  
            "That's what I said." Kitty nodded, downing some more coffee.  
            "Doesn' this strike y'all as a little _odd?_"  
            "Should it?" Bobby inquired, gratefully accepting a mug off coffee from Sinister and taking up a seat opposite of Kitty.  
            "Yes! He's EVIL!"  
            "You're evil?" The boy was extremely thick. He suffered the same condition as Kitty, only it usually lasted throughout the day.  
            "Yes, I am," Sinister glowed with pride, and for once it wasn't just his watch.  
            "Well, good for you then!" Kitty said in an unwitting imitation of Ororo's most motherly voice.  
            "Ah find it unnervin' that Ah'm the only one worryin' here. Where's Scott when you need 'im?"  
            "Somebody call?" The I-have-a-metal-rod-up-my-ass-and-rather-like-it voice of Scott Summers flowed into the room. Most of the X-Men believed him to be not of his earth due to his ability to be completely levelheaded in the morning.  
            "What's wrong, Rogue?" A mug of coffee was passed from Sinister, to Rogue, to Scott.  
            "Well, as Ah was sayin'--,"  
            "OH MY GOD!" Kitty screamed, Jumping up from the table. "Mr. Sinister is in our kitchen!"  
            "Ah've been tellin' ya that the whole time!" Rogue exploded.  
            "Oh, sorry. You have to wait for the caffeine to kick in." Kitty motioned to the empty mug on the table.  
            "I don't see what the big deal is." Bobby didn't bother standing, he was too busy making whirlpools in his coffee. He giggled as a small surfing ice figure he had made was sucked into the caffinated abyss and melted out of sight. Scott took a thoughtful sip of his coffee.  
            "Mr. Sinister, I presume."  
            "You don't need to presume, you know who I am," Sinister said, pointedly.  
            "Yes, well, I've always dreamed of saying it."  
            "Oh, sorry."  
            "Quite alright." Scott took another swig. His mind was processing the information, and it was apparently a more complicated system than they had all believed." So, _Sinister, _we meet at last."  
            "We've already met, Scott."  
            "Gawddamnit, Scott! Skip th' corny one liners and assess th' situation!" Rogue was pouting against the counter, and Kitty apparently had not yet gotten over the shock of a villain being in the kitchen. She was still pointing and rambling incoherently, and Bobby was busy playing with his food. Two more mutants of X-Men fame stumbled into the mess unfolding in the kitchen. Coffee was graciously handed to them and they struck up positions next to the disconnected Kitty. Piotr Rasputin soon had a comforting arm around her shoulder, which was batted away with the hand not pointing to Sinister. Ororo Munroe scowled at Kitty's latest refusal.  
            "Good morning." Scott raised his mug in a greeting.  
            "'Ro, thank Gawd y'all are here! Mistah Sinister is in th' kitchen!"  
            "Ees that who he ees? I kon see a definite similarity." The husky Russian rubbed his chin in what he thought to be a contemplative manner.  
            "Why don't you people recognize me? I only tried to create mini-Scotts and kill the rest of you! Oh, hello, Gambit. Coffee?" Any annoyance had washed from his voice as he donned his sweet smile and held up the pot of coffee like a regular Susie Homemaker.   
            "Oui." If possible, Remy looked scruffier than ever in his boxers and tank top. His hair was a rats nest, and his eyes were bloodshot—not that you could tell. He slowly looked up at Rogue, only after greedily snatching the beverage from Sinister. "What's wrong, Chere?"  
            "Mistah Sinister is here, in our kitchen, and nobody seems to care!"  
            "Sinister?" Remy turned. "Well, so he is!"  
            "That's what I said!" Kitty and Bobby chimed.  
            "Summers, Scott Summers." Giggles were heard, and a bubbling redhead popped into the doorframe, fingers to her temple.  
            "What, you didn't think Mr. Young Republican(if he weren't a mutant) here would ever say those things on his own, did you?"  
            "Well, he was bound to crack sometime." Ororo said.  
            "What's going on down here?" Betsy Braddock tramped in with a disgruntled Warren hanging from her arm.   
            "Mr. Sinister joined us for breakfast!" Kitty piped.  
            "Hello." Betsy greeted him. She poked Warren in the ribs.  
            "Hi." He said quietly.  
            "Salutations." Sinister bowed his head slightly in greeting. The couple took up seats at the dining table, Betsy fussing over Warren's hair and Warren looking much the part of a five year old momma's boy. An opposing "Stoppit" was occasionally voiced.  
            "Well, Sinister, what are ya waitin' for?" Rogue growled. "Why are ya in our kitchen?"  
            "Methinks the lady doth protest too much," Hank chided, wheeling in the famous bald cripple.  
            "Th' lady has a right to protest—Mistah Sinister is IN OUR KITCHEN!"  
            "Hello, Charles."  
            "Nathaniel."  
            "Don't call me that."  
            "Right. Why are you here?"  
            "Because I'm evil."  
            "But why are ya evil _this time_??" Rogue had her head in her hands now.  
            "Because I collaborated with FOX television to lock you all up and force a reality T.V. show on you."  
            "FOX? No!" Ororo sunk into a chair out of fear and shock combined. Bobby gasped  
            "A reality T.V. show? _Why_?" Yes, Bobby was stupid. There was no doubt in any of their minds.  
            "Because FOX didn't like my idea of 'Boy George's Magical Mutant Muppet Menagerie'."  
            "Ah can understand why," the southern belle said under her breath.  
            "Anyway," Sinister coughed to capture their attention again, "You can't leave without permission. Or something like that. We forced Mystique to sign all of your names to a contract." He grinned at their frightened faces, waving the contracts in question around in the air. Rogue made a desperate attempt to grab hers before he hid them away.   
            "This bites," Kitty sulked.  
            "It better not. You have viewers to entertain. The cameras have been installed around the house." He moved towards the door. "And I wouldn't advice trying to short them out, Miss Pryde," he added upon seeing a mischievous gleam flash across Kitty's eyes. "You'd be messing with a legally binding contract." He gave a short trademark villain's laugh before walking out of the kitchen, leaving the baffled X-Men to their own devices. 

**Tangy**: And that's a wrap! 

**Delilah**: As indicated by your useless "bar."

**Tangy**: I don't like you.

**Delilah**: I'm your beta. You're not _supposed _to like me.

**Tangy**: *Twitch*

**Delilah**: Please review. Tangy needs reviews to be somewhat stable. Her birthday is coming up soon. Review her as a present.

**Tangy**: Or get me a pony.

**Delilah**: Shut up*fwap*.

**Tangy**: Ouch. Fine, fine, reviews are fine.  
  



	3. For Pete's Bleedin' Sake

**Disclaimer**: As previously mentioned, all the people, places, and bits of furniture in this story belong to the maniacs at Marvel. I, sadly, own nothing. Once again, I am making no money from this. However, if you would like to make a donation, please contact Delilah seeing as how she does everything for me anyway. Right then, on with the fiction!

**Delilah**: Hello we are back again.  Oh joy of wondrous joys.  *smiles falsely*

**Tangy**: I don't know why I pay you. You're awful at this sort of stuff.

**Delilah**: *blinks* You don't pay me. Can I get paid for this?

**Tangy**: Well, in a world that doesn't hate you…yes. But I am a tyrannical bitch. Yarrharrharr!

**Delilah**: I thought _I _was the tyrannical bitch. *looks confused*

**Tangy**: Well, you're _the_ tyrannical bitch. I'm _a_ tyrannical bitch. Very big difference, my little Beta Buddy.

**Delilah**: Oh. Well, if I'm the tyrannical bitch _and_ the bible whore, what are you?

**Tangy**: Tangy and quite delicious. On with the story *whip crack*!

===============================================================

"Damn it," the majority of the room chorused. It was around ten in the morning, and the more important members of the Institute were gathered around a decorative coffee table in one of the many recreational rooms. A distinctive BAMF was heard, and the smell of brimstone wafted up to their noses.  
            "Damn vat?" The thick German accent floated above the curses, coughs, and damnations that echoed throughout the room. Amanda Sefton, loosely attached at the arm, yawned wide and looked at the others with disinterest.  
            "We were in bed," she glared accusingly at a few of the others, "And were interrupted by an…_eavesdropper._" She shot her shifty gaze in the direction of Professor Xavier, who immediately turned his head and began to whistle. The others guessed that he had heard a little more than necessary of the activities taking place in the couple newly founded basement cabana.  
            "Vell, vat is going on?" Betsy was once again patting down one of Warren's fly away hairs with her own saliva.   
            "It seems," The Professor began in his I-am-about-to-give-a-large-an-uninteresting-speech voice. He was not given the time to finish.  
            "Well, I went down to get an Eggo and some coffee," Kitty interjected.  
            "And I was sleeping!" Kitty gave Bobby a menacing look before continuing.  
            "And this guy hands me some coffee—"  
            "That's when Ah came in. Kitty was makin' her waffles, and Ah smelled them. So Ah walked in and started talkin' to Kitty—"  
            "You did not! You tried to steal my Eggos!"  
            "Ah did not!"  
            "Did too!"  
            "Ah did not, an that's th' Gawddamned tru—"  
            "Did too."

"I'm Jean Grey!" Jean cried out, waving her Barbie and Ken dolls (named Jeannie and Scottie) around in the air. The other's looked at her and just accepted it as normal behavior. She had developed the habit of announcing herself recently.   
            "Anyway, Kitty was makin' waffles, which Ah did _not _try to steal," Kitty gave a short 'Hmph!', but did not interrupt. "And like she said, this guy was handing out coffee. He made me some tea. So Ah look up, and Ah say 'Oh mah Gawd Kitty—"  
            "You didn't say that."  
            "How would you know, Bobby, you hadn't come in yet!"  
            "I had so, Kitty."  
            "Had not."  
            "Had so."

"Had not."

"Had so times one hundred!"

"Had not times infinity! Hah, I win!" Bobby hung his head in shame, and Kitty had a triumphant look on her face. If she couldn't beat Rogue, she always had Bobby.

"ANYWAY," Rogue's glare shut the pair up. "As Ah was sayin', Ah turned to Kitty and said—"She was interrupted by a loud thump. The group slowly turned their heads up to where bits of ceiling plaster were floating down and settling on their noses.

"What was that?" Ororo looked concerned. Piotr looked frightened. Jean seemed uninterested and continued with her dolls, and Scott was enthralled by the make out session that "Jeannie" and "Scottie" were participating in. Rogue had focused on Remy, who looked much the guilty party.

"Spill it, Cajun," Logan growled from his perch next to Kitty. Betsy was busying herself by swatting chunks of plaster out of Warren's perfected mane.

"Well, Remy went to the bar last night," the group nodded their understanding.

"And did what exactly?"

"Well, de poor guy had nowhere else to go…"

"Oh Gawd, ya brought home a stray?"

"You know you're not allowed to have pets, Remy! Remember the bird?"

"That was an accident! Didn't mean ta blow up de ting. De damned parrot looked like de target."

"That was cool, though." Ororo shot a dissatisfied look in Bobby's general direction.

"Kitty has Lockheed! What's wrong with Remy having a dog? Maybe he'll learn some responsibility." Rogue finally stepped up to defend her hubby.

"That's different. I am intelligent enough NOT TO SET MY PET ON FIRE!"

"HE DIDN'T DO IT ON PURPOSE!"

"I always wanted a pet dog. But I got Hank instead." Bobby didn't see anything wrong with his statement, but a grumble and fwap over the head from his large blue friend reset his mindframe.

"He's not a dog! His name is Pete!" Remy shouted.

"You can't name your dog Pete." Ororo pointed out.

"I am Piotr." The simple Russian sounded like an automated message machine. Jean had to fight herself not to make him add a 'please leave your message after the beep: BEEP!'.

"I didn't name him Pete! He was already named Pete!" Amanda and Kurt had sat down a good while beforehand. The pressure the conversation was exerting on their already muddled minds was too much to bear.

"Well, he _could _name it Pete. We'd just have to specify who we were speaking to. You know. Human Pete or Canine Pete." Scott had begun to be disturbed by the Barbie doll's public displays of 'affection', and had joined the conversation.

"For Pete's sake, get on with it!" Kurt yelled.

"Which Pete?" Amanda asked, sincerely.

"Both Petes!"

"There is only one!"

"Maybe I'll name Jeannie and Scottie's son Pete!" Jean seemed excited about the idea.

 "There is only one Pete!"

"Piotr shouldn't be so selfish! There are other people named Pete!" Kitty retorted.

"He can't name it Pete. We already have a Pete. There is only _one Pete_," Ororo spat.

"No, there's two!" Scott complained.

"Three if you count Jean's to-be-named Barbie." Bobby really wasn't helping Ororo's mood, and a loud clap of thunder merely proved it.

"No, Pete's a guy!" Remy tried to explain. It apparently didn't come out quite how he wished, and Rogue quirked a suspicious eyebrow.

"Ya picked up a guy at th' bar?"

"No, Rogue, It isn't like that!" He tried to explain. But, as everyone knows, explanations are lost on Rogue and she went red with a mixture of anger and embarrassment.

"YOU'RE LEAVING MEH FOR A GAY MAN NAMED PETE?"

"Wot the bloody hell are you all callin' me for?" The unmistakable British accent of the infamous Pete Wisdom broke the turmoil. He was rubbing his head, and had the markings of a major hangover.

"PETE?!?!" Kitty shrieked upon recognizing her lost love. Ororo slowly turned, fearing the truth.

"So you're Pete, huh?" Rogue tried to act calm, but she wasn't the best actress.

"Yeah, got a problem with it, mate?"

"Yes, in fact Ah do." With the simple statement out of the way, Rogue did her best ninja impression and lunged at Pete with a definitive 'Hieee-yah'. Hank and Bobby collectively pulled back the rabid woman and held her in place, hoping they wouldn't get bitten in the process.

"YOU BROUGHT THAT VAGABOND INTO OUR HOUSE?" Ororo shot out of her seat and headed towards Remy, ready to murder. Rogue lunged and did her best ninja cry, aiming to kill.

"So he's the one who was in the kitchen?" Amanda scratched her head as Kitty glomp-tackled her lost love. Piotr looked sulkier than usual, and Ororo looked like the late old yeller being held back by a disgruntled telekinetic.

"No, no. The man in the kitchen was—" It seemed that Xavier would never get a word in edgewise.

"Wait, yer Kitty's Pete?" Rogue was calming down after seeing Kitty's more than warm welcome. 

"Piotr is Kitty's Pete! THEY ARE DESTINED TO—" Nobody complained when Scott slapped a bit of duct tape across Ororo's mouth and wrists and tossed her into a recliner. 

"Ah thought you and Remy had…" She brought her fist to her mouth and coughed.

"Why were you so quick to assume, Chere?"

"Well, you do where Pink," Bobby cut in.

"Stop harassing Remy! Pink is all the rage in France," Betsy cooed, tackling the flyaway on Warren's crown that never seemed to keep flat.

"So you were Kitty's 'Excalibur' Pete." Rogue rubbed her chin thoughtfully.

"He said yes, did he not?" Kurt tossed the question up for debate.

"YA LOUSY BOTTOMDWELLER! WHY AH OUGHTTA TEAR YA UP WHERE YA STAND! NOT ONLY DID YA BREAK KITTY'S LITTLE HEART, YA NEARLY BROKE MAH HEART TOO!" Rogue made another attempted pounce, easily thwarted by Logan. Pete blinked.

"Well, technically I dumped him, Rogue." Kitty blushed, "But I'm ready to give it another go!" She grinned at Pete, who seemed to be happy and at the same moment for the first time in a long while.

"Oh. Well, in that case…Ah'm happy for you two! Well, now that y'all are reunited and such." Rogue smiled and sat down in Remy's lap. It took a few moments to register that she had calmed down, and a silence hung over the air for a bit. 

"So who was the man in the kitchen?" Amanda finally asked.

"Well, you see, Mistah Sini—" Rogue attempted to explain, but, Xavier, sick of being denied the fun of sharing bad news, stole the opportunity to tell of the problem that they faced.

"Mr.-Sinister-is-here-and-has-turned-our-lives-into-a-reality-television-program-funded-by-FOX," he said in one breath so that he could not be interrupted.

"FOX!?!?" Bobby exclaimed with a gasp, although he already knew the information. 

"Oh is zat all?" Kurt inquired with a huff. "Ve thought it vas important." With a flash of black smoke the remaining members were stuck attempting to rid themselves of the smell of bamf. They assumed that they would not be seeing much of the couple for a very long time, seeing as how they kept to themselves in their own basement love shack. 

"I'm Jean Grey!"

"We know, Honey," Scott patted her shoulder affectionately, sighing deeply and contemplating the horrors that Sinister would bring upon them.

**Tangy**: Well, *cough*, that was fun now wasn't it?  
**Delilah**: Whatever you say, Tang.

**Tangy**: Dun call me that. You make me sound like a bitter orange beverage. 

**Delilah**: Well maybe you are one.

**Tangy**: You are useless, and mean. Go away.

**Delilah**: FINE!*storms off*

**Tangy**: Anyways, please review! 

**Delilah**: Yeah, she has a bad enough inferiority complex without them.

**Tangy**: I thought you left…

**Delilah**: It was an illusion*creepy finger wiggle* 

**Tangy**: Okay then. Next chapter coming soon to a fanfiction near you!

**Delilah**: That was cheesy. And not even good cheese.  
                                                


	4. Satan Sparks Strikes Again

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything or anyone. If I owned them I would be a very rich Tangy and not the poor starving authoress I am today. Sue me if you wish but all you'll get is some lint and an old soda can. Maybe some stuffed animals and X-Men merchandise, but honestly it's not worth the pain of a lawyer. Really, they are evil heartless bastards. Unless you happen to be one. Then they are totally awesome. Yeah. Go lawyers. Anyways, don't sue me and I won't bite you. Thanks and enjoy!

**Tangy**: Well, here we are. On the road again, hum dum dum dum on the road again...

**Delilah**: Hello again! What an amazing surprise to see you all again!

**Tangy**:*Mutters*I won't take that offensively, I won't take that offensively….

**Delilah**: Right then. . .urr. . .here's a very fascinating chapter

**Tangy**: Only because…well ..I can't say right now. But it's good. I promise. No wait, I don't promise. I don't want to be held accountable if nobody likes it. 

**Delilah**: Yes, in this chapter when learn how evil sinister really is. I feel sorry for them all. . .well except maybe Kurt and Amanda. They're too preoccupied to care about much of anything.

**Tangy**: Or I'm too lazy to make them care. Anywho, have fun and enjoy the fun of a most… eventful… reality T.V. series.

**Delilah**: *mumbles* fun. . .torture more like . . .*in an overly excited tone* Right! On with the fic.

  
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A buzzer sounded throughout the entire mansion (save the basement, where a more than comfortable couple were busying themselves with things that disturbed more than interested their colleagues) much like the foghorn of the late R.M.S. Titanic. 

More than one member of the Institute found themselves on the floor or under their beds, clutching their heads in misery. Mr. Sinister, comfortably seated in a leather recliner in the midst of the living room, hit the button on his "ACME Foghorn" remote a few more times for good measure. 

The sounds of cursing and anger made him giddier than a schoolgirl coming face to face with Ben Affleck, and we all know how giddy that would make him.

"Wot the bloody hell are you doin'? Wakin' us up at the crack of dawn with a bleedin' foghorn installed in the walls!" 

Pete Wisdom was never one to tone down his attitude, even when threatened by a man such as Sinister. He puffed out his chest in anger and lit up a cigarette.

  
  


"Shush, Pete. My head hurts enough _without_ a mixture of your ranting and gaseous toxins." Kitty waved her hand at him lazily before flopping down face down on the couch, intent on getting some sleep. 

Sinister pushed his button once more, and was bombarded with pillows in his face from her direction. He scowled, but left her alone while he waited for the others to come down. 

"What now?" Betsy yawned, yanking a disobedient Warren into attention. 

"I wanna go back to _bed_," Warren whined, only to receive a cold look from his lady friend. It seemed to be a silent threat that he would be spending the night on the couch (or worse, with Sinister) if he didn't behave. 

Sinister held up a pale hand to silence them and motioned for them to sit.

 Soon Scott strutted into the room with a limp Jean by his side. Scott's shaded eyes met with a few that seemed to emanate hatred for his ability to cope with these early mornings. He silently accredited it to his dedication to early morning sessions, but did not voice his opinions for fear of flying objects. 

Jean dropped to the floor cross-legged, eagerly watching Sinister's sneering face. Hank, followed by the notorious Bobby Drake, wheeled in Professor Xavier. By the looks of it (it being a slight dent in the side of the professor's wheelchair), the early morning wake up call had indeed knocked him off of his feet--or wheels, as the case may be. 

"Hey, Sinister! What's the hap?" Bobby saluted the man in the easy chair, offering a smile and small wave before being jutted out of the way by Hank.   
  
  


Ororo Munroe, formerly praised as a goddess, seemed to miss her royal treatment back in Africa and gave Sinister the official "How-_dare_-you" glare. He chuckled, offering her a seat with a clean sweep of his arm after Piotr had clambered in quite loudly. Sinister rapped his fingers impatiently across the arm of the chair. Logan lumbered in, shooting out his claws and letting out a low growl in the only audible response to Sinister's 'alarm clock.'

"Well, we might as well begin."

  
  


"Hmph-mmph," sounded the lump on the couch that had been at one point distinguishable as Kitty.

  
"Hey, get out of my head!" Sinister chucked a large pillow at Xavier, who had been snooping for clues as to what was going to happen. 

He toppled over and cried out like a turtle on it's back. Hank, suppressing the laughter that Bobby apparently could not, gingerly pulled him back up. Sinister grabbed a hefty fruit bowl off the coffee table and relieved it of its wax food guarding duties, before placing it over his head. 

His facial expression said more than a stuck out tongue and rendition of "neener neener" ever would. Charles scowled and lowered his head.

"As I was saying," a shifty gaze met the Professor's rather shamed one, and the resident villain continued. "I have two reasons for bringing you all down here at this time of day."

"Better be a damned good reason, mate."

"Shush, Pete, he's talking! That's rude." Kitty was now sprawled across Pete's lap, and had given him her best reprimanding look. He merely flashed the you're so so cute when you're mad" smirk.

  
  


"Hem, hem." Sinister cleared his throat, allowing a moment of condescending glances before continuing. "Today you will be embarking on your first task for the show. You will be spelunking, so please," he flashed a wary eye in Betsy's direction, "dress appropriately."

"Well I never!" She spouted.

"Well, actually, Betsy, dear, people are always telling you off for that little number you wear." Warren offered a shy smile.

"I don't see _you _ever complaining, Warren." That seemed to shut him up.

"Will you people _please _let me continue?"

"I'm all ears, Sinister, my man!" Bobby gave him two thumbs up, and the rest of the group turned their heads in the opposite direction as if to say they were not acquainted with him. 

"I have arranged for a few…past attendants…of this school to stop by for an prolonged visit." Sinister crossed his legs and folded his hands in his lap, reveling in the dropped jaws of the X-Men sprawled out before him.

  
  


"BRING IN THE GIRL!" They all jumped at his sudden outburst, and Kitty restrained a giggle. 

The images of Sinister reading a copy of "Dr. Evils Guide to Being, Well, Evil" in front of a fire with a frothy cup of hot chocolate were running nonstop through her head.

 All eyes soon turned to the door, however, as the distinctive click-clack of high-heeled footwear found it's way through the corridor. 

"Hubba hubba." Bobby seemed to speak for the majority of the men with his brash commentary. Scott had turned his head along with the short leash that Jean kept him on.

  
  


"And hello to you too, Bobby," the icy but strangely calming voice of dominatrix and teacher extraordinaire, Emma Frost, was accompanied by a wink in Bobby's direction. 

"Had me worried for a second there, Bub." Logan breathed a sigh of relief.

Yeah, at least it isn't—" Poor simple minded Piotr Rasputin did not seem to have yet grasped Murphy's Law. Anything that can possibly go wrong…will.   
  
  


Xavier was suddenly stunned by a dozen mental voices screaming "NOOOO!" and fighting not to fall to their knees with clenched fists. Logan, for one, was having he most trouble. Kitty's eyes flared up with a rekindled hatred.

"Logan!" The bouncy and altogether easily hated girl bounded towards the once stable man with her demonic arms outstretched and ready for a hug. Logan was backing up, straight into a wall to his dismay, from the only thing that had ever inspired fear in him: Jubilee. 

"Oh, Logan, I missed you so so so so so so so SOOOO much!" The look on his face indicated that the girl was squeezing all life and happiness from his body. 

"Er…yeah, kid." Kitty was mumbling incoherent death threats while Pete tried any and all ways to calm her down a bit.

 The others were in an incurable state of shock. Sinister sat with a smug look on his face. Rogue and Remy chose perhaps the worst of times to enter the situation.

"Sorry Ah'm late! Remy and Ah were up late last night." Even if their teammates had been conscious enough to think over the phrase, they would not have been able to make much sense of it. What they could have possibly been doing to stay up late together was soon answered.

"'S not Remy's fault that she don't know de rules of Scrabble."

"Ah do so know how ta play Scrabble." She glowered. Suddenly a realization had come over the couple. Nobody had yet interrupted them, which was a strange occurrence indeed in the lives of these particular mutant superheroes. Yes, poor Remy had caught sight of the demon-girl. 

"Oh, God non! Remy thought 'e was rid of 'er!"

"Hah. Try _teaching _her," Emma whispered sardonically. Jubilee had now released Logan from her death grip, only to find Remy standing in the doorway as he looked for a hiding place.

"Remy!" She plunged at him, but his reflexes were better than she had suspected. He had been practicing in case this ever did happen. He was soon hanging from a chandelier, where he suspected nobody, not even the sparkle spouting spawn of Satan, could reach him. Rogue was snickering with Emma as he swung, at mercy to the whims of gravity. 

"That's enough, Jubilee." A stern look from Sinister to the youngster frightened her enough to allow Remy time to hop off and run to safety behind Rogue.   
  
  


Logan had a vase in hand for the next time she came near _him_. 

"Everyone should now go get ready for the 'hiking trek' you will be taking this afternoon. It will be quite the adventure. Now go!" With a clap of his hands, the entire population of the room (save Sinister himself, and of course, Jubilee) ran from the room, relieved that he had let them escape the atrocious hell bound child.

  
  


**Delilah**: That was short. We apologize. 

**Tangy**: Oh Well. I would like to start by saying that I love all my reviewers more than I will EVER love Deli. So a lot. Like, a lot a lot. I had a few questions asked that I shall now answer!

**Delilah**: Here we go…

**Tangy**: Firstly, no. Jean's Barbie doesn't have a visor. He has those cheap 80s style sunglasses that I remember MY Ken doll used to have. 

**Delilah**: You still have Barbies. 

**Tangy**: That's not the point, damnit *fwap*. My second question from my loverly and fluffy reviewers was when will chapter four be up.

**Delilah**: You know it's up right now. This is it. 

**Tangy**: Chapter four is now up.

**Delilah**: You're being redundant, don't you think?

**Tangy**: Good point. Ten points to the Gryffinwhore.

**Delilah**: Poor brain-damaged Tangy.

**Tangy**: _Anywho_, I shall be posting chapter five very shortly, if not within the next 24 hours. I tend to write a chapter every night between 2 and 4 AM. I blame that for my dislike of this chapter. Chapter five will be _much_ better. 

**Delilah**: You hope.

**Tangy**: You are very bad for my self-confidence*scampers off**Arnold voice*I'll be back.


	5. Raiders of the Lost Art

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything, as much as I wish I could own Indiana Jones and take him to bed with me. I'd get a kick out of that. But who wouldn't? Ah, my sexual fantasies are not what this is for. I don't get paid, so don't sick your fiendish sharks—I mean lawyers—on me. It's rather displeasing to be gnawed on. I'd know. Delilah _is _my friend. Marvel and Paramount own everything. Even you and me. So, if a bloke in a Paramount jumper shows up at your doorstep demanding that you come with him, either comply or… rise against the man! Don't let big movie corporations enslave you! BE YOURSELVES! DON'T LET THEM GET YOU! Be strong, and you will never be a slave to the water tower! Right then. I'll shut up and present the damned story now. 

**Special Bullitin Thingie**: I apologize for my shot-to-hell formatting, but Microsoft Word has this whole Terminator-like thing against me and wishes my destruction. Anyways, the point of this breaking news is that I'm sorry but I can't make it pretty. It's too satanic and evil. If you love me you'll all write hate mail to Bill Gates. If you don't love me…you'll do exactly what the people that love me do. O.o;…

**Delilah**: Welcome, one and all, to the amazing chapter 5 of this glorious piece of literature!  
**Tangy**: While _they _can't detect the sarcasm, _I_ can.  
**Delilah**: Since when have I cared about you?  
**Tangy**: Since never. So I would like to take this time to acknowledge my less outspoken beta, Hannah-bambina. She's the one who takes my ugly formatting and makes it easier on all of our eyes.*Claps for the Hannah*. Delilah really doesn't _do_ anything.   
**Delilah**:*Snaps scissors*What was that?  
**Tangy**: Nothing, Deli, dear. On with the spelunking!

Delilah: Yes, on with yet another stupid chapter.

**Tangy**: Well…this is slightly more interesting than last chapter.

**Delilah**: Yes but the last chapter was EVIL.

**Tangy**: In what way?

**Delilah**: The return of the groupie from hell?

**Tangy**: Oh, that. I thought you were referring to the overall crap levels. In any case, this chapter, I believe, is much better.

**Delilah**: I believe so too. *smiles evilly*

**Tangy**: I don't like you. Anyways, it's 2:05 AM here, so I'm going to shut my ruddy trap and get with the…*hand gesture*stuff. Enjoy yourselves. And please remember: do NOT try this at home. Or if you do, please video tape it and send me a copy. Thanks.  
  
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Kitty tumbled down the steps and into the living room long before the others. The search to find suitable hiking attire had taken her much less time, considering that all she had to do was fish out an old and moth bitten cardboard box from her closet that housed her stash of Indiana Jones memorabilia.  She had stood in front of the mirror for a substantial amount of time, admiring the tight fitted leggings and boots, and the "jungle-worn" shirt that screamed safari. Her mess of curls was brushed and restrained by a vintage fedora, and the celebrated weapon of choice for Indy and lion tamers everywhere hung loosely from her hand. 

It was no wonder that Bobby nearly choked on his Evian the moment he entered and noticed the X-Men's resident innocent toying devilishly with a whip. 

"T-that's hiking gear?"

"Better than what you're wearing." She stuck out her tongue as he seated himself in an identical armchair across the way. Bobby seemed to think hiking required khakis, a brightly flowered button up Hawaiian shirt, a matching bucket hat, and a generous helping of  suntan lotion seemingly only applied to his nose. Kitty skeptically eyed his wiggling toes in their sandaled enclosure. 

None of the others seemed to take the threat of a "forest stroll", as Logan was referring to it, very seriously. Some had changed from their usually unique fashions to simple jeans and shirts. However, most (including both Emma and Pete wisdom), chose to remain in their usual state of attire. Nobody sat without granting Kitty his or her bemused appreciation of her getup. Kitty grinned most brightly at Ororo Munroe.

"Hah, and you said I'd never find use for it when I bought it."

"Kitten, I hardly constitute a silly little television show game cause enough for the purchase of that offensive costume. It's a hike, not a Halloween party."

"Like your 'uniform' is much better," Kitty growled, luckily low enough under her breath that Ororo didn't catch it. 

At that moment, Sinister briskly walked into the room. He fought back giggles at the variety of vestments that his "prisoners" had chosen to wear. 

"It is not merely a hike, Ms. Munroe. It is a quest for a lost artifact." His malicious eyes fell on Piotr, and everyone turned to gawk as though the boy had suddenly developed a severe case of leprosy. 

"Mr. Rasputin, you ought to take care of your property more carefully. Luckily I have found your lost painting, and it is safe." Piotr turned a crimson color. He obviously had an idea of what Sinister was hinting at. Sadly, not another soul in the room did. 

Sinister eyed their confused expressions with glee.

"Oh, he hasn't told you then? Even dear Katherine doesn't know? Well, what a shame for them to find out this way. While rummaging through the house for ideas on my first act as your gracious host, I happened along a particularly…_risqué_…painting of the one and only Katherine Pryde."

All eyes now fell on Kitty, who sank in her seat. It plagued her that she had no idea what was going on.

"Indeed," Sinister continued, "the one and only Piotr Rasputin painted…NAUGHTY PAINTINGS!" 

Silence.

Sinister looked at them hopefully, and then lost his patience.

"For God's sake, you people are thick. He painted a nude picture of Kitty. God. Must I spell it out?" 

His last words were unheard over the turmoil bubbling in the already humid room.

"YOU DID _WHAT?_"

"I…I am sorry, Katya. I did not mean for people to see. I…you are so beautiful…"

"I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS! YOU HAVE NEVER EVEN SEEN ME NAKED!"

"But he's got an _awesome_ collection of playboy." Bobby was silenced with more than one pillow headed in the general direction of his empty head.

Kitty pounded her fists against her forehead while Ororo seethed with displeasure. 

"How could you do this to Kitten?" She begged of Piotr, motherly tears about to swell her eyes.

"I'll pay you for it," Pete whispered. Unluckily Ororo caught on to his whisper.

"YOU STAY OUT OF THIS YOU…"

"Limey?"

"That works. AS I WAS SAYING! HOW COULD YOU PIOTR?"

"I…I…I said I was sorry."

"I don't think you realize _how _sorry," Sinister giggled. Kitty turned, raging.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well, if you all don't go to a certain place indicated on this map," he whipped out a tattered piece of loose-leaf paper, "We'll disclose the painting to the public. Wonder what the _Enquirer_ will read?"

"GAH! I DON'T KNOW WHO TO KILL FIRST!"

"Calm down, Kit. I'll get the picture—I mean—We'll get the picture." Pete patted her arm lovingly, abrutish smirk on his face. Kitty ignored him and stormed up to Sinister, greedily snatching the map and unrolling it.

"IT'S WRITTEN IN BABY BLUE AND PINK CRAYON! HOW THE HELL ARE WE SUPPOSED TO FIND THIS," she squinted, attempting to decipher the crayon text before her. "THIS 'TEMPLE OF X-TREME DOOM'?"

"Temple of X-Treme doom? Y'all don't lay off th' cliché X-titles, do ya?" Rogue asked simply.

"No. Studies show that they annoy you."

"Ah. Ah see."

"What did I miss, guys?" Moans and groans followed the high pitched voice of the one and only Jubilee (thank God).

"Damnit!" Logan and Gambit hung their heads in disappointment. 

"Everything. You can't come." Kitty spat, rotating the map and looking at in various lights. She tilted up her fedora for a better look.

"As I just told your teammates, Jubilation, you will be embarking on a quest to find the lost art. NOW GET OUT OF HERE! ALL OF YOU!" He sat down with the T.V. remote, preparing for his midday soap operas.

"Yer not gonna tell us anythin'?" Rogue quirked and eyebrow and took up a stance with her hands on her hips. 

"Oh. Yeah. Follow the pink lines through the forest in the back to the," he deepened his voice, "Temple of X-TREME doom." Clearing his throat, he resumed his normal volume. "There you will find the particularly stunning portrait of Miss Pryde, and you will have to retrieve it."

They all blinked.

"Since when did the mansion have a forest?" Jean scratched her head with "Explorer" Jeannie's arm. 

"Insta-grow-forest," Sinister growled, raising the volume as Sheryl slapped Francisco on his favorite soap. "Get OUT!" 

They all shuffled out the French style double doors and into the backyard, gazing up in awe at the newly grown redwood forest that towered above them.

"I'm the leader because the painting is of me, and I have the map. Not to mention, I look cool," Kitty stated, taking up the lead and directing them. Piotr and Pete took up the end of the line to protect them against the perils that they assumed would be planted along the way.

"Doooo doo doo doo, doo doo doooo," Bobby, having been inspired by Kitty's spelunking attire, had been restlessly humming the famed Indiana Jone's theme. A sharp crack from the extremely annoyed leader of the journey silenced him.

"If I hear so much as one more 'Doo' from you, Bobby Drake, you will no longer be a man."

"You can do that with a whip?"

"What did I say about saying 'Doo'?" She attacked him again with her whip.

"Ow. I didn't mean 'doo', I meant do. Damn dominatrix."

"WAITAMINUTE! I thought _I_ was the token dominatrix," Emma whined.

"Well, apparently Kitty is one too."

"Not fair," The blonde twitched.

"Since when was I a dominatrix?"

"Since last night," Pete muttered. He could hear every word of the conversation because everyone, with the exception of Rogue, had insisted on staying in a closely-knit blob in case headhunters decided to bar their path.

Ororo shouted for the conversation to go no further, and gave each member of the discussion a stern look. Kitty denied everything to Ororo, who ate up the lies like cake.

When the idle chatter further back in the group struck up once more, Kitty turned and whispered to Emma her desire to borrow some intimate apparel when they got back to the mansion.

A few hours passed, and nothing too out of the ordinary happened aside from a few episodes involving Emma Frost, poison ivy, and some usually private parts of her body.

"It's quiet. _Too_ quiet. And you know,"

" 'I hate it when it gets too quiet.'" Kitty finished Pete's predictable sentence for him. His response was a low grumble. 

"Well, ya don't have to worry much longer. Look up there, Kitty! Th' 'Temple of X-Treme Doom'."

Kitty nodded and held up a hand to keep them in place. She smiled as an idea dawned on her.

"Hey, Jubilee, go up there and check for booby trap—er—I mean—read what that sign says," she said, her voice laced with sugar and her eyes heavy with eagerness.

Mutterings of unhappiness left the group when Jubilee reached the sign in front of the temple and waved.

_Damn, still alive._

The group slowly advanced towards her and the sign she stood before.

"What's it say, Pubes—I mean—Jubes." Rogue snickered at Remy's crude humor. Ororo, while amused, glared in their direction. _Children._

"It says 'Port-a-Temple: A branch of the Port-a-Potty industry."

"Pubilee is right!" Bobby couldn't help but overstate the obvious for a chance to use the joke as well. 

Jubilee didn't notice.

"Great, just great. We're walking into a giant and stylized port-a-potty."

"Pubes—I mean Jubes—go first. You're, uh…the most equipped to handle danger." Kitty thrust her inside the cave-like opening.

A series of ouches and damnit's poured from the mouth of the cave, and the grins on their faces widened at each one.

"It's…safe," Jubilee's distorted voice echoed from inside. 

The explorers giggled senselessly at her battered appearance, noting the maces, arrows, and burn marks dotting the path she had chosen. She had tripped every single trap that was set out for them.

"Wait a minute," she rasped, spotting Piotr.

"What?"

"Why didn't you use him? Nothing would have touched him. Or Logan, he has a healing factor!"

"Too late for that now, _petite_." Remy slapped a silencing hand over her mouth, awaiting instruction from Kitty. He cried out in more horror than pain when Jubilee bit down on his finger.

"RABIES!" He screamed like a five year old girl, running to Rogue for assistance.

"There's still another corridor to go, the map says, and there should be a door somewhere." They had been touring the inside of the Port-A-Temple for a while, and finally Kitty stopped in front of a gloomy doorway, peering cautiously into the dim lighting. 

"Stay back, Katya! There is no telling what danger lay ahead." Piotr jumped in front of her to block the way. He seemed to be attempting to claim brownie points with her for saving her from possible danger, but it wasn't working. She grunted and shuffled to Pete's side. 

"Now what?" Jubilee croaked, while Logan and Remy, with bloodthirsty eyes focused on Jubilee, were restrained by Jean and Emma.

"We just have to use our marbles!" Bobby produced a bag of cheaply produced marbles, grinning.

"You stole that from the DuckTales movie."

Everybody seemed surprised to hear Warren's voice, seeing as how Betsy was usually the middle-woman between him and others. 

"Did not."

"Did too!"

"Oh Gawd, not this again."

"Did no—Oh alright, I did. So what. You watch too many Disney movies!" Warren seemed angered by Bobby's last comment, but only he an Bobby seemed to understand how there could be anything remotely insulting hidden in it.

 Bobby got down on one knee after scowling at Warren, who for once proud of the movies Betsy had deemed "appropriate" for him and had the satisfaction of beating Bobby in a game of "wits". 

Bobby chucked half his marbles down the corridor. 

"You did it wrong!" Warren screamed almost instantly.

"How would you know!"

"You don't chuck them! You have to gently roll them."

"How would you know, bird boy?

"I watched the movie last night, brain-freeze!"

"Fine, Einstein, here you go." With that, Bobby dumped the remainder of his marbles into Warren's anxious palms. 

Warren rolled.

Their eyes widened as one narrowly escaped a button in the center of the floor, and gasped as it swung back and tapped the button. They jumped up, feeling a sudden jolt. 

"Look, the door!" He had tried to help by announcing, but the poor Russian simpleton was trampled by a ravenous hoard of mutants.

"Thar she blows!" Bobby eagerly pointed to a painting of a nude Katherine Pryde that seemed to have it's own lighting and was set upon crimson colored velvet. Kitty's face went about three shades lighter than the fabric her likeness was set upon.

The artwork, however, was not entirely unguarded, although the safety precautions seemed a bit weak to the X-Men. The pedestal that it rested on was in the middle of the circular room, on a platform alienated from them by a deep canyon and a rickety bridge made of frayed rope and rotton wood. 

The superheroes did not heed the bright red warning sign, and immediately started to run across. The halted only when a small scream was heard, and then a splash. They looked amongst each other for who had fell. Then they looked down to the lava-filled crater. Bobby was whistling and trying to look innocent, which pinned him as the guilty party.

"Jubilee fell," Ororo remarked without feeling, and without mentioning that Bobby had knocked her over.

"What?" 

Logan and Remy began to rejoice, dancing something that looked oddly like River dance…only it was on an unstable bridge. They ran in circles with the small space provided, held hands, and made merry. 

They were not at all close to the center of the crater, and Kitty seemed to be the only one who noticed this aside from Pete who was too busy wondering how much money Piotr would take for the painting in question. 

"I think we should keep moving."

Kitty's suggestion went unheard. At that moment, Remy somehow managed to let a charged card slip to the end of the bridge on the side they had come from. It caught fire within an instant, and while they swung down to their inescapable doom.

"CLIMB!" Somebody shouted above the hollering, and nobody knew who it was. They just followed the order.

While the bridge burned from below them and threatened to toss them into a pit of molten lava, they climbed up for their dear lives.

One by one they made it onto the platform. Bobby was last, and made it just in time as the last bits of the bridge went to ashes beneath him. Piotr pulled him over the side while Kitty danced over to the painting and threw a cover over it, hugging it closely to her chest protectively. Pete, with a victorious smile, managed to pry it out of her arms on the pretext that he would burn it. He intended to do nothing of the sort, of course.

"Say, why didn't we use our powers to stop ourselves from falling?" For once, Bobby had posed a reasonable question.

"It wouldn't have been good for the show. They like to see danger," Jean replied, un-knotting Jeannie's hair.

"Ah nearly forgot we were on a reality television show."

Suddenly, as if brought upon by Rogue's statement, the torch lit Temple was flooded with lights, and cameras were revealed to be in the most unlikely of places. The X-Men found themselves on a moving platform back over to the other side, with crew members behind the cameras laughing openly at them. Sinister stepped from behind the shadows with a goey red mess that was shaped like a subhuman.

"Well, congratulations. Success." Sinister clapped a whole of three times with a smile before resuming his normal composure and thrusting the jam-like being into their midst. 

"I believe you lost something."

"Hey guys!"

"DOESN'T SHE EVER DIE?" Logan was comforting a very distraught Remy while Jubilee licked the "lava" from her skin.

"But didn't you die?" Emma asked impatiently.

"No. It wasn't lava. Just strawberry jello."

Scott turned to Sinister in utter amazement. 

"You filled an entire canyon with jello?"

"Yes, Scott."

"Nifty." Jean blinked at him a few times. "I mean, that was cruel and unusual."

"Definitely unusual," the rest of them chorused.

"Definitely cruel," Logan and Remy replied. 

"Well, you're all done here so you ought to get back to the mansion. Who knows what I have planned for tomorrow. And they need to wheel out the Port-A-Temple, and uproot the miracle-grow forest. Ta-ta!" Sinister gave a small wave before the X-Men were violently pushed from the Temple and back out into the forest to find their way back to the mansion. 

The group mumbled incoherently of their unhappiness and held their hands to their ears on the voyage home as Jubilee struck up her own chorus of "J-U-B-E-S…I'm alive, I'm alive!"

**Tangy**: …Yes. I'm sorry. I lied about when I would post this. I got really lazy…and it sat on my computer, half finished, for a while.

**Delilah**: Oh well. It's out now.

**Tangy**: Yes, that's what matters. I have NO idea when I'll get chapter 6 up and running, hopefully soon. So—

**Delilah**: I feel funny.

**Tangy**: You have not insulted me yet?

**Delilah**: Oh, that must be it! You're a rancid whore! Ah, much better. I am happy.

**Tangy**: *Sarcastic*Oh, how I love making people happy. I hope you all liked this one, and complain at me if you didn't. Please. I love compliments, but suggestions make the world happy too. Yay for a peaceful happy Tangy ruled world! Yay I say!

**Delilah**: Shut up.

**Tangy**: OK.


End file.
